Afternoon Tea
by CretianStar
Summary: Sherlock gets Molly an engagement gift - most women want a trousseau, but Molly's happier with Sherlock's present. Victorian Sherlolly!


A/N: We're going kitten adopting tomorrow. Hence this nugget. That and Victorian Sherlolly, who doesn't want Victorian Sherlolly!

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"Sherlock, behave yourself!" Molly squeaked as the dark haired man lunged for her, almost knocking the tea set out of the way in his haste to kiss her. "Sherlock!" She squealed, cutting off mid shriek as his lips pressed to hers.

"You're going to get us caught!" He growled as he tugged at her skirts and pulled her onto his lap.

"My mother will be back any minute and while she may be glad that we're engaged, she does not need to catch us... fornicating!" She hissed between kisses, stifling a moan as he lipped at her neck.

"She won't, she's gone to check on the present I've bought for you." But as he whispered the words, he heard Mrs Hooper's shoes clatter on the stone floors. Molly leapt away and snatched at the tea pot, almost spilling the scalding contents in her haste, her cheeks aflame.

"Oh Mr Holmes, how gorgeous!" Mrs Hooper was full of chatter, her eyes sparkling and despite the burning feeling her beau had lit in her, Molly's curiosity won out and she poked her head out of the parlour door to see Sherlock's friend, Doctor Watson a basket. Setting the teapot in the wrong place on the mantle, Molly lifted her skirts slightly to hurry down the passage toward Doctor Watson. Greeting him shyly she looked between the wicker sides of the basket and crowed suddenly.

A small grey kitten stared back at her balefully, as if resenting its very situation in being stuck in a basket. Entranced by the small bundle, she took the basket from Doctor Watson's arms and invited the good man into the parlour, trusting her mother to have poured the tea with more competence than Molly could ever have managed.

Regardless of her mother's gentle chide, Molly placed the basket on the floor and opened the door on it, laughing delightedly when the kitten bounded out without the slightest hesitation.

"Oh how delightful!" She beamed around at Sherlock whose wry smile was missed by his fiancé but not by her mother or his best friend.

Doctor John Watson had sat in one of the chairs and was watching the scene with an air of bewilderment. Only Sherlock Holmes could have sworn himself off of marriage and all hope of a normal life until he met shy Miss Hooper on a case. Taken captive by one dastardly James Moriarty, when she had thrown herself from the second floor of the building into the waiting hay-cart Sherlock had an instant admiration. When he discovered that she fully understood a lot of the scientific jargon he regularly spouted and could also formulate half decent hypotheses he had become neatly infatuated with her. John had warned Sherlock that Molly Hooper was not a science experiment, bait, or a way in – she was a living breathing human with feelings and emotions. Sherlock had paused for a moment and then, quite out of character, closed it again before retreating to his mind palace.

Two days later he had proposed to Miss Hooper with her mother present as her father had passed away in the same war that had injured Doctor Watson.

"He is not meant to be so forward." Sherlock frowned as the kitten neatly ran up to Molly, nestling in her skirts and purring loudly for such a small kitten.

"It would appear that there is more than one man in your life that is forward." John joked, watching the slightly sour look flit across Sherlock's face until Molly giggled.

"I wouldn't have it any other way Doctor Watson." She beamed, fondling the kitten's ears. "I'll keep my Toby just the way he is." She was sat on the floor without a care for propriety or decency, her skirts fanned around her while she pulled a loose ribbon from her bodice and draped it across the floor, adoring the small kitten that chased after it.

"Toby?" Her mother queried.

"After Father's cat." Molly said without hesitation. The Hooper household was well known for its cats – Nicholas Hooper had had one since he was a child and this obsession was instilled in his only daughter. Her last cat Alice had died of old age before James Moriarty had entered her life and after her upheaval, Sherlock thought a kitten would be a good wedding gift – a decision he was glad to make as his bride-to-be was practically glowing.

"A perfect name." Mrs Hooper smiled softly. "Now, shall we have tea? I'm afraid Katy will have been in the kitchen, dithering whether to serve the scones or not!" She beamed and reached the door to find the waiting maid, a task that John was quick to offer his services and the pair vanished towards the kitchen.

"Thank you Sherlock." Molly said suddenly, throwing her arms around him, having deposited Toby back in his basket. A grumpy mew made his thoughts on that quite clear but Molly was distracted, now kissing the very air from Sherlock's lungs, her arms entwined around his neck.

There had been times when Sherlock had made her feel like a chump and a dunce, his mindless remarks cutting her to the quick, and there had been times in their engagement when Molly had wanted to step away and leave him to his bad habits, reckless actions and cruel thoughts but she realised as the few months progressed that he was softening, rather rapidly. If she needed any further proof of that, it was Doctor Watson's incredulity.

But right now she was content kissing the life out of Sherlock and uncaring if her mother was to walk in. There would undoubtedly be speed bumps during their married life – Mrs Watson had given indications of that hardship – but at this very moment, Molly couldn't be happier.


End file.
